Unfortunately, the less I attempt to view this work as intensely philosophical, serious, and ponderous, the more it improves. If I ask too many questions, if I dive too deep, the issues become blinding.

Define yourself or be defined by others! Or so it goes... But my issue with Sartre's philosophy is forever the same. What does it mean to define yourself? How does one go about doing this? Is this act or process even possible? What is this I that I am defining? And see, just like that, it has become utterly absurd. This is why I do not think one should get exceedingly invested in Sartre's philosophy. In its essence, it's merely superficial. The definition of sophistry. For this, I hate it, but be that as it may, this play might still be salvageable!

If you experience this play, not as a philosopher or a thinker, but first and foremost as a human being, you will be exposed to how futile, how senseless it is to care about others' fancies and opinions of you. It is absolutely terrifying that they can define you. That the other can perceive you, judge you, disdain you, most terrifyingly of all, love you, and it could be for any reason, and in that last act of the comic, they could even think one up, right there and then, if nothing obvious is at hand. What a prospect, and indeed, you should be wary, for if you are not, this beast called the other might devour you, and there they go away, all your loves and passions. Your dream as you know it is gone. Once you give in, you cease to exist, and something ugly and frightful, a being of grotesque form, takes your place. The truth is worse still. Hell is not other people. Your own grotesque form shall be your punishment. Your submission shall be your passing.